The Faded Road
The great hall of Blackwood Manor smelled of roasted boar and old wax, a thick, cloying sweetness that seemed to settle in the lungs of every guest who dared to breathe too deeply. It was a feast fit for kings, or perhaps for ghosts, for the candles burned with a steady, unnatural violet hue that cast long, trembling shadows against the stone walls. Sir Arthur Penhaligon sat at the head of the...
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